The world was too small
to hold your body back from breaking into places
it had not seen
before you thought it possible
to go there.
Where you caught yourself
alone in the shadows which crept upon your
silence staring into the mirror above your bathroom sink
thinking about all that had beaten you
into bits and pieces of pain
bounced off those white walls weeping into that
darkness. The weight on your shoulders.
The history in your hip bones
knocking the bench
repeatedly stretched across your vision
there were scissors to your right hand
a razor in your left
or this time, please, just a twist of your lens cap
a knowing there is no coming back from that forever
goodbye wrapping itself around your thoughts
that there was always more
How many depths must you dive
before you understand how far below
you can survive on your own?
How many inferno’s must you walk into
before you stop letting yourself split in two
before you understand love, is not an answer
but a question which never demands you change
only grow into someone better than present
but most people only seem to know
how to fall apart into another’s together
forget themselves in the fear of forever
and after all this time, how much of you is left?
Dylan thought the answer was blowing in the wind, my friend
but I think it lives beneath your skin.
In the unspoken sadness which sears those words you could never say.
In the face of those farewells you were so far feeling okay about
but were afraid to turn into the truth
no doubt, it’s in the anguish of those decisions you wish you hadn’t made.
And even though their pain fades away tomorrow dawns
on new scars which mark an invisible part of a permanent wound
Maybe if there were no rocks by that river Woolf would have written again.
Maybe if there was no gas in that oven Plath would have paved a different path into peace.
Maybe if there was just. one. catch. in your fall
you wouldn’t have felt the need to jump
Because there was an infinite breathing deep beneath your darkness
worth more than any amount of : wait : I could have whispered.
You were breaking glass.
Which was breaking you into pieces
more precious than any other art
form you could develop
The trouble with being a trail blazer
is they never get to see
how far they have come
how many people have fallen into themselves
because of the work which
bought them undone.
They only feel the ache
of bruised bodies beating to an ever impossible
always just outside their reaching into hearts
which can do nothing to stop their hands
building bridges into new cities
creating new lands
their present surroundings